Outside the ancient Gallic city of Lugdunum sat two Roman Armies. One belonged to the lawful Emperor Honorius, and the other belonged to the usurper Constantine III who had sallied forth from his city’s walls to meet Marcellus in the field.

Marcellus stood on a hill above the battlefield and gazed on the two armies from afar, protected by a few Clibanarii who acted as his personal guard. Since he had fractured his wrist in the previous battle, it would force him to sit this one out. Should he take the field, only death would await him with his current condition. For he could not even lift a shield.

Thus he frowned as he gazed from afar at the two armies which approached one another. He would be commanding this battle in name only. As his secondary commanders led their individual units in the plans he had established beforehand.

Thus, it did not surprise him in the slightest when his archers fired volleys from the hillside onto the usurper’s armies below. In Marcellus’ place, the Roman commander Lucan led the infantry at the forefront of the formation, and thus, when the soldier looked over his shield, he could see his allies’ arrows fall down out of the sky and into the enemy formation. Though the usurper’s armies quickly covered their bodies with shields, ultimately a few arrows penetrated through the gaps and claimed the lives of those unlucky to fall prey to their iron tips.

As for the Usurper, he quickly gave the command to his soldiers to return fire, and thus, as the infantry stormed the gap that divided them, the archers of both armies pelted their rivals with their projectiles. When they infantry within a span of fifty feet of the enemy, both sides raised their shields above them and withdrew their plumbate before launching the projectiles into the air.

The combined missile fire of weighted darts and arrows rained down upon both armies as they desperately tried to protect themselves from each other’s missile fire. However, eventually, the two sides clashed in the center, where Lucan and his soldiers pressed forth with their shields, attempting to create a gap to thrust their blades through. Unfortunately, they were fighting an equally experienced Roman army, and thus the usual tactic of a shield was not working as intended.

It was at this moment where the loyalists gained ground. Marcellus had a victorious smirk on his face as he witnessed Lucan rally the men into a classic double envelopment. The center line of Lucan’s formation fell back while the flanks pressed forward.

Slowly but surely, Marcellus’ army enshrouded the usurper’s army in a circle of death. Marcellus could see the look of fear on the usurper’s face when he realized he was caught in a double envelopment, and could hear the panic in the man’s voice as he called out to his soldiers.

“On me! On me! We must break out of this double envelopment!”_.

As the minutes passed, and Marcellus’ forces came closer to victory, the usurpers fell by the wayside, their lifeless corpses staining the grass with their spilled blood. However, just when Marcellus was about to declare himself victorious, hordes of barbarians rushed out from the trees, and surrounded his army on all sides.

The Franks had arrived, and when Marcellus witnessed this, his expression turned to one of horror. He had not expected Constantine’s foederati to arrive at the last minute and attack his forces. It took Marcellus a few moments to realize what was happening, and just how lost this battle had become. By the time he realized it, half of his army lie dead in the fields below. Thus, he no longer hesitated and issued the order to withdraw.

“Retreat! Fall Back, the battle is lost!”

The loyalist Forces heard this words and responded quickly, breaking ranks while routing. Though it was difficult for many of them to escape, as they were caught between the traitor legions in the center and were encircled by the Frankish foederati.

When Lucan heard the order to retreat being given by Marcellus, he cursed his fate. He was at the forefront of the army when they were ambushed by the Franks and there was simply no feasible way to escape. Despite this, he fought with all his will, slashing his sword towards the barbarian’s neck, severing his head in the process.

After doing this, he drove his blade through the heart of another hostile, gaining a double kill. Yet despite such a heroic feat, barbarians and traitors surrounded him. The first instance of pain that the veteran roman commander felt was also his last, as a spear found its way embedded through his lorica squamata and into his heart.

Lucan gazed onto the hill above and witnessee the pained expression on his General’s voice. He only managed to mouth the words.

“Save yourself!”

Before falling dead onto the grass below. When Marcellus witnessed Lucan’s death, he cried out in fury and unleashed his blade in a mad attempt to avenge the man, having lost any reason that his mind could muster.

“Lucan!”

However, just as Marcellus was about to snap his reins, a nearby Clibanarii grabbed hold of his wrists and stopped him. A look of panic was in his eyes as he attempted to calm his General.

“General! It is too late, we can not save them! We must escape! You have issued the order to escape. Those who can do so are already falling back. The battle is lost!”

When Marcellus heard this, he came to his senses and immediately realized another valued soul who was in grave danger. Thus, he shifted his attention to the hills above and called out a single name.

“Sigefrida!”

After saying this, he snapped his reins and rode off in the other direction of the battlefield to the place where his precious slave stood watching in horror as the enemy forces cut the Roman Army to pieces. The Suebi woman was in tears as she knelt on the ground, praying to her people’s gods that the brave Roman soldiers might find their way to Wotan’s hall.

It was at this moment that a small band of Frankish Warriors rushed into the hills, chasing after some fleeing Romans. Launching their javelins into their backs and howling like rabid wolves. Among these men was the giant known as Balderic, who spotted the Suebi beauty and gazed upon her exquisite figure with lust in his eyes.

The Frankish chieftain did not hesitate to chase after the woman, who immediately noticed his ascent into the hills. The tears in her eyes had been replaced with fear as she realized what was about to happen to her. Despite her best efforts to flee, the Frankish warriors were far more athletic, and it did not take long for the warband to catch up to her. Balderic licked his lips as he called out to the enslaved beauty.

“Why are you running? Pretty lady, come here. I will protect you from those filthy Romans!”

However, Sigefrida did not respond and continued to run into the distance, that is, until the large barbarian pounced on top of her and pushed her to the ground. There was a ferocious expression on his face, as if he were a rabid wolf, as he pinned the woman to the ground and ripped off her gown.

“For years, we Franks have served those damned Romans. It looks like you are in the same situation, so how about we have a little fun?”

Sigefrida immediately struggled as she protested what was happening to her.

“No, get away!”

But it was no use there were simply too many of them. Just when the Frankish Chieftain was about to **** the woman, a spear penetrated through the back of his neck, claiming his life on the spot. Sigefrida screamed in fear as she saw such a brutal sight before recognizing the man responsible.

No, it was not Marcellus, rather the spear belonged to the Foederati Commander Sarus who had slain the Frankish Chieftain for trying to **** Marcellus’ prize. A look of rage was on the man’s face as he fought by his lonesome against a war band of battle hardened franks, who responded to his interruption of their fun with murderous intent. Sarus blocked an oncoming spear before thrusting his own into the chest of another soldier, cursing the fools for their actions.

“Fucking Franks! You just can’t keep it in your pants, can you? Do you have any idea who that woman belongs to!?!”

The barbarian foederati did not respond, rather, they attacked Sarus from all angles. Luckily, he was armed with a spear, and because of this, he could keep his distance from them with the threat of a quick jab that could easily cause their deaths.

It was at this moment that Marcellus and his Clibanarii rushed through the woods on horseback and saw the scene display itself. The Roman General’s olive green eyes stared in rage at the sight of his precious slave’s torn clothes, and once more unleashed his sword from his scabbard as he charged towards the men responsible.

When the men saw this, they ignored Sarus, instead they broke ranks and fled the scene of their crime. There were simply too many Clibanarii for them to defend against, especially now that their chieftain was dead. A furious voice echoed throughout the hillside as Marcellus charged down the nearest of the Frankish Warriors.

“You damned Franks!”

After saying this, he brought the edge of his spatha down and through the neck of the fleeing barbarian, decapitating him in the process, and spilling his blood across the hill. The severed head quickly rolled down the hillside as if it were a soccer ball, and past Sigefrida, who stared in shock. Ultimately, it took a matter of seconds for Marcellus’ cavalry to wipe the floor with the Franks, sending them straight to the afterlife.

Having secured his woman’s safety, Marcellus immediately hopped off his horse and ran over to her, in fear for her safety as she was coated in blood. Luckily, it was not her own.

“Sigefrida, are you all right? Did they hurt you? I swear to the gods I will **** their fucking corpses if they so much as harmed a hair on your head!”

Sigefrida could only cry as she latched onto her master and ease his worries.

“I’m… I’m fine… Sarus saved me before they could do anything!”

When Marcellus heard this, he looked behind him and gazed at the Gothic Commander, who had a helpless expression on his face as he shrugged his soldiers.

“What can I say? I figured you were still alive, and would hunt my ass to the ends of the earth if I didn’t at least try to save your girl…”

Marcellus did not respond to this claim, and simply brought the woman over to his horse where he climbed onto its back with her behind him. He gave one simple bit of advice to Sarus before snapping his reins and riding off into the sunset.

“Make for the Alps. We must return to Rome. By now they have butchered our army and will come after the survivors. If you still value your life, I suggest you ride with us!”

Sarus sighed heavily before approaching a nearby Clibanarii, where he jumped up on his back. He voiced his complaint as he watched Marcellus’s steed trot up the hill and into the distance.

“Do I have any choice in the matter?”